One of Sanzomon's Journeys
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: "It was not her role to wait until he destroyed himself – or whatever innocent had the misfortune to cross paths with him. That role was for those whom she had already granted self-restraint." [Character: Sanzomon]


**A/N:** Written for the 50_characters challenge on livejournal for the fandom Digimon Xros Wars (since that was Sanzomon's only currently known appearance). This one is for the character Sanzomon, using prompt #033 – Sacrament. Also written for the Digi-Dex challenge on the Digimon Fanfiction Challenges Forum (link in profile), again for Sanzomon.

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**One of Sanzomon's Journeys**

Hard crusts of sand prickled her bare feet, some clinging to her soft steps while the rest formed the imprint of her journey. A little further, and Sanzomon stopped in place and turned, watching the dry breeze sweep up her tracks and the marks from the golden rings that clung to her sleeves.

Once, she had had only a single ring: small and invaluable, and with a small glint in its rusted surface. That had been in her youth; now she had many, on her wrists and her sleeves, and they all shone, polished, in the yellow-cake world. The dust could find nothing to cling to in that, and so they held onto her feet and the tips white robe that flowed so freely it was only the corset that bound her frame. No-one would notice the small grains though; the sparkling trinkets dulled their significance in the eyes of the world.

She noted them though, and as the desert swept away her tracks she hitched up her sleeves, shaking them free. The rings chimed together, and she paused a moment, but the desert of the Digital World was one place where few bandits came. It was a famous place: a place where many died without reaching the end of, and many more lost their minds.

It was that which drew her, those sad souls that had lost their way quite by accident. Souls that had fled companions and homes for one reason or another, souls that were searching something that was far closer than they understood…and that would ultimately end in disaster. And even souls consumed by self-centred lust, that prayed on the weak to gain power without noting the little bit of good that lived within.

Her rings chimed once more as she began walking, straight and purposefully despite there being nothing but sand around. The melody echoed in the flat plain, and she listened carefully as her own feet treaded soundlessly to the larger, firmer, footholds ahead of sight.

The monk let a small smile form and continued along her path, approaching the sound.

What she found was not surprising: an Apemon chasing away its shadow in wild bone-swipes. Feet thudded about, leaving large dents that even the desert breeze could not erase, and his mumbles and growls overlayed the sound of rings clanking together as Sanzomon approached.

She stayed a safe distance, watching him a little longer: watching to that berserk behaviour, that senseless rage. There was no glint of a gold collar around his neck, and so her vigil ended there. It was not her role to wait until he destroyed himself – or whatever innocent had the misfortune to cross paths with him. That role was for those whom she had already granted self-restraint.

She raised her arms, and the prayer beads around her neck threw themselves out with the wind, catching around her wrist. She muttered softly, the old prayers rising quickly to the forefront of her mind, and she listened for the Apemon's cries with the other ear. He howled once, then stopped; he had heard her, and she continued on, the endless chant rolling off her tongue, the words that taught gratitude and hope to the God-forsaken heart.

Eventually, he was listening to the words instead of hearing them, and the bone-club fell from his hands. The start of tears began to form, quickly dried by the desert air that still whirled around them. Fatigue seeped in quickly, and the Apemon sunk to his knees in the sand. Sanzomon's trinkets chimed once again and she turned away, her job done.

She kept a gentle eye on Apemon though, and he caught her sleeve – the white, not the gold rings that hung from it – and held on tight.

'Yes?' she asked, following the fingers carefully avoiding wealth for modesty. Then the Digimon lowered his gaze and she smiled. 'You would like to follow me?'

The Apemon nodded, too weary to speak and, at that moment, unable to explain.

The monk nodded thoughtfully. 'For a while,' she agreed, and waited for her new companion to regain his wind.


End file.
